


Dancing and Delusions (Obsessions)

by Markirya



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Dancing, Dirty Dancing, Harry’s POV, Jealous Harry Potter, Jealousy, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Selectively canon-compliant, real dirty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:54:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22782883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Markirya/pseuds/Markirya
Summary: Harry dies a little inside for every breath that Draco shares with that guy on the dancefloor. Draco’s sex on the dancefloor.“He felt crushed, betrayed. He had no real reason to feel that way, but he still did and- shit, he was drunk and angry at himself and Malfoy and f*cking Charlie Weasley.”
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Charlie Weasley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 132





	Dancing and Delusions (Obsessions)

**Author's Note:**

> I know i have so many things unfinished. My computer died, i’m stupid and didn’t back anything up. I’m writing this on my phone and my fingers hurt like a motherfucker. So i’m sorry for all the probable typos or misspellings!!  
> I may or may not have plans for a Charlie and Draco scene from their POV but depends on if i ever get the feeling on my fingers back.  
> Cheers!

Well, with Draco it was always in for a Sickle, in for a Galleon, no doubt about that.  
And he definitely knew how to turn a look.  
  
Harry's eyes were watering with how little he was blinking, caught between bewilderment and something like a mother's disapproval at the scandalous outfit. Also, a little turned on, but that mixed poorly with more disapproval and gut-churning... guilt? Disgust?  
  
"Oi, is that Malfoy? In this muggle pub?" Said Ron, barely audible through the sound of the most obnoxious electro-pop music. Harry spared him a glance and saw his pinched face and barely hidden contempt as he looked Malfoy up and down in a completely different way that Harry had done.  
  
He just nodded, eyes glued once again to the blond-haired menace at the other end of the bar and staring in absentminded wonder at guys tripping over themselves, offering Malfoy drinks and probably so much more. It made him... uncomfortable.  
He realised Ron was ranting.  
"...ponce, dressed like that. Obviously thinks he's so fit..."  
Harry cringed a little, his best mate's voice was tinged with venom and jealousy, as the woman she had been eyeing all night chatted Malfoy up easily. He also cringed because Malfoy was, well, not fit but sexy in his weird little way, and it made him want to throw up a little.  
He wasn't pretty, still pointy-faced and pale as glue, but there was something about him: whether it was those skin-tight black jeans or the probably tailored- was it a blouse? It flowed pale, shimmery silver with every movement and showed off a long, slender neck. Harry gulped down his drink, couldn't even taste it, and still he felt parched.  
  
"Harry," it was Ron, miffed at being ignored, eyes narrowed in suspicion, "are you listening to me? Are you checking Malfoy out?"  
Nervous laughter.  
"Of course not, don't be daft. What is he doing here?"  
"Exactly. Merlin, one would think this is beneath him, maybe he's come to feed his superiority complex". Harry nodded, guiltily, but found himself answering.  
"Don't be nasty. You know he's different now." Malfoy and him were not really friends now, but they had made their peace with each other and their past when they were forced to bond over their children's friendship. Then they bonded over Harry's divorce, and then his early mid-life crisis when he realised he was into blokes sometimes, but Ron knew of neither those things. Maybe they could've been friends at one point, before Harry screwed it up.  
  
"I think he fakes it just to save face with Scorpius. Merlin knows how that kid grew up to be so nice." Harry knew it wasn't easy for Ron to say those things about Malfoy's son, but Scorpius had effectively charmed every single on of them with very little effort. Harry figured Scorpius was everything Malfoy could’ve been if his family hadn’t messed with his head.  
  
Harry hummed, not that Ron could hear him over the roar coming from the bar. Harry watched in fascination as Malfoy slowly licked salt from his hand, downed a tequila shot like it was nothing, and bit into the lemon slice while making eye contact with someone behind the bar.  
Ron made puking sounds while Harry saw Malfoy's tongue on a loop behing his eyelids.  
  
"This is putting me off, and I don't want to be here anymore. Also, I’m drunk, so let's call it a night."   
Harry got up and they walked- stumbled a little, through the exit door and into a nearby alley, not without throwing one last glance at Malfoy. It seemed he was entertaining his fans, but his eyes kept darting to the entrance. Was he waiting for someone?  
  
Ron and Harry hugged goodbye, exchanged a few more words, and Disapparated. Only Harry didn't. He stood there and kicked himself all the way back into the pub, sneaking in so Malfoy wouldn't see him. He ordered two more drinks at the other end of the thankfully circular bar- literally asked for 'anything strong, please', and went back to the same tall stool table, hidden and luckily still empty, yet close enough to see Malfoy in excruciating detail.  
Who was Malfoy waiting for?  
His friends would be so disappointed. He was a grown man and still stalking his childhood enemy. Admittedly, he was no longer his enemy, and he wasn't there waiting for Malfoy to do something evil. Probably.  
He took a distracted sip from his drink and burned his tongue, it was definitely strong, while never taking his eyes from Malfoy. He noticed with some relief, which he would definitely not look at in more detail, that while Malfoy kept looking flirty, he had an unapproachable air about him, like he was untouchable. He had full control.  
Harry envied that, what with the masses that followed him around in the wizarding world, asking for things- demanding things of him, and Harry had a hard time saying no at first, even if he desperately wanted to. Even now, he chose to hide out in muggle London than face the crowd, and so was dubbed a moody recluse, painting him as a romantic broken hero, damaged by the hardships of the War. Harry shuddered and held his drink, trying not to taste it too much.  
  
The music had changed drastically. It was now an almost sensuous and still kind of up beat sound, and when he looked around he found it was Malfoy besides the DJ, batting his eyelashes at her unashamed.  
He sauntered back with a very Malfoy smirk, stopped right in the middle of the dancefloor, and extended his arm and crooked his finger in a 'come hither' way. Harry almost choked, understanding that the person Malfoy had been waiting for had arrived.  
  
The man wasn't that tall, and looked like he couldn't be all that agile with all that muscle. Lies. Harry could admit it was just the taste of ash on the back of his tongue when he saw him, his body at least. He wasn't necessarily bulky, but was super toned, muscles rippling when he moved with a confident stride. He was wearing slightly ripped blue jeans that showed off a nice round bottom, an obscenely tight undershirt that showed off how ripped he was, and an open shirt that showed off how cool he was. 'A show-off, basically', Harry thought, a little bitter, as he tried to unlock his jaw, failing not to feel inadecuate in his loose pants, sneakers and printed t-shirt. 

He gritted his teeth as he saw Malfoy's face light up subtly, letting loose a secret grin, a secret between him and this man that Harry was left out of. He tipped his drink back but nothing happened: he'd drank both glasses and was officially drunk. He had a moment to understand that was why his self-hatred wasn't kicking in with the acute sting of rejection, and why the useless denial of his sexuality wasn't going off in his head like a mantra. The moment passed and he forgot about it; he turned back to the dancefloor with a deep frown.  
The man was an inch from Malfoy, reaching with his eyes the level of Malfoy's still smirking mouth. Malfoy pressed his hand to the side of the man's neck, slightly digging in, in such a way that his thumb was lifting up his chin. The multicoloured lights hit the man directly on his face and fuck, fuck.   
  
Freckles, lots of freckles, were the first thing Harry noticed, spread all across this man's face, a face that was no longer a mystery. Sun-kissed skin and bright blue eyes, and Harry was hyperventilating. He forced his eyes to focus on the man's shoulder-length hair, hoping against hope- but no, it was red, darker than his brother's, a little more like his sister's.  
  
Charlie Weasley stood there, in all his dragon-taming splendour, lips parted and eyes crinkled in the corners, and his face showed an open fondness that was quickly turning into heat the more Malfoy manhandled him.  
Charlie grabbed both of Malfoy's hips with big hands and roughly pulled him towards his body, and they were tightly pressed into each other. Malfoy's fingers crept into the back of Charlie's head and pulled on his hair, angling his own head until their mouths were aligned, his eyes were fixed on Charlie's, and Harry wondered if they weren't going cross-eyed. Not that it was important, but he couldn't process what was going on. His best mate's brother, who was barely ever seen, who worked with dragons- and wasn't that neat, though Malfoy looked anything but tamed. He pressed his hand possessively, and his other hand was sliding up and down Charlie's side, slowly, deliberately, and he licked his lips a breath away from Charlie's own. Malfoy was very much spitting fire, and Charlie was bathing in it, burning right back.  
  
When? Why? How?  
  
The music picked up a bit and Malfoy started swaying his hips to the beat, side to side at first, then forwards and backwards sinuously, and parted his lips to tease Charlie's already parted ones, pulling in and at the last second curving his face away, once and then again, moving past him to say something in Charlie's ear, pressing his chest firmly against the redhead. He in turn tightened his hold on Malfoy and reached inside his shirt to grab at his waist with one hand, making a tiny biting gesture when Malfoy pulled back to watch him, smirking.  
  
Harry couldn't breathe, nothing made sense. At the same time, it was undeniable, he was seeing it all so clear from where he was sitting. He felt crushed, betrayed. He had no real reason to feel that way, but he still did and- shit, he was drunk and angry at himself and Malfoy and fucking Charlie Weasley.  
  
They probably met at some Weasley gathering, though he couldn't ever remember seeing them talking or in the same place, and he was always deeply and hopelessly aware of Malfoy and what he did. Except for the part where he was friends with Charlie. Friends, sure.  
"Not quite", he murmured under his breath, and he wasn't even surprised at how resentful he sounded in his own ears. Friends didn't do what those two were doing, at least not that he knew, and he wasn't that dense to try to convince himself that it was friendship, at least not only friendship. Only friends didn't tease each other like that, wrapped in their own little world, they didn't hold each other as if they were going to disappear if they didn't. Someone who was just a friend definitely wouldn't lick another's bottom lip like Charlie had just done, pulling back teasingly when Malfoy tried to capture his tongue.  
The music turned impossibly louder, and people started filling the makeshift dancefloor, and Harry had to shift and turn until he could see them again, and he was mesmerized. It was like the world wanted him to see Charlie and Malfoy's foreplay, even through the masses he could perfectly and easily spot them, still lingering on the edge of a kiss. He gulped when he noticed he was getting turned on by it, and by the fact there were more than a few people also watching with ill-disguised interest. Harry crossed his legs and tried to get a grip on his hormones, to channel his anger, to focus on the sickening sound of his heart crumbling in his chest. The thing is, even though it deeply pained him, he couldn't look away, his breathing was shallow, he felt warm and tingly. He couldn't stop staring.  
  
Charlie and Malfoy were no longer trying to fuse their bodies together, thankfully. Harry wondered if they had kissed, and convinced himself they hadn't because maybe he couldn't handle that. They were both writhing and moving their bodies in decidedly filthy ways, undulating and popping, never taking their eyes off each other. Malfoy looked hungry, his face was dark and he seemed fully focused, but his movements were so free, so nimble, and made specifically to drive Harry insane. Malfoy was sliding his hands up and down his sides slowly, carefully, while his hips kept a rhythm that was basically sex. That was it, he was sex on the dancefloor.  
  
Charlie pressed his body into Malfoy and Harry remembered he was there, physically stopping himself from screaming at Charlie to get off and out of the way. They were now moving in sync, and Malfoy's hands were on Charlie's chest, and they slid up to his shoulders taking his shirt with them, almost all the way off his arms when they stopped. Harry's heart plummeted to his feet and his eyes almost popped out of their sockets, and the beginnings of a hard-on started stirring between his legs.  
  
Malfoy pushed Charlie until his back was against a pillar, and he leaned down to press his face into Charlie's neck. He did something that made the redhead arch back and quickly Malfoy tied back Charlie's wrists with his shirt. Harry was sure he could easily break out, but he completely understood why Charlie didn't even try. He just planted his feet and stood straight, closing his blue eyes, preparing for the no doubt onslaught of sensation that was coming his way, as Harry was going to witness.  
  
Malfoy- Draco, Harry just couldn't think of him any other way now, let loose like it was nobody's business, and Harry was there for it. He first scraped his fingernails down Charlie's chest and into his abdomen, and Harry could barely make out his muscles clenching at the feeling. Draco snapped his fingers and said something, a frown on his face, and Charlie opened his eyes immediately, and Harry could tell he was panting already.  
Then Draco started dancing. Rather, started grinding and using Charlie almost as a pole-dance pole. He pressed his hips into Charlie and rotated them, snapping them forwards then pulling back slowly, maddeningly slow, slapping Charlie's ass from the side when he tried matching Draco's movements.  
  
Harry's brain melted when Draco turned around.  
  
Draco pressed his back unto Charlie's chest, taking advantage of his superior height as he threw his head back into the crook of Charlie's neck, arched his back in a heavenly manner and started shamelessly rubbing his pushed out ass into Charlie's crotch, going up and down in tandem with the music. Charlie strained pathetically against his bonds, but he was either faking it or really couldn't concentrate, as he helplessly watched Draco use him for his own pleasure.  
Draco then lifted his arms and pulled lightly on Charlie's hair. That seened to be his breaking point, as he pulled his wrists out of the shirt, letting it fall carelessly to the floor, grabbed Draco by the waist and turned him around roughly, while Draco wrapped his arms around Charlie's shoulders, and basically sat down on the leg Charlie had fit between his own. They were still for a few seconds, measuring each other, challenging each other, until Charlie reached up and bit Draco's bottom lip, dragging it back down, again roughly. Then he pressed into Draco's neck and very clearly sucked on the skin where his shoulder met his neck, then licked a stripe right up to the shell of his ear. Draco trembled and put a hand between their bodies to hold Charlie's chin up as Charlie wrapped his arms all around him, pulling him once again flush against his body. Draco leaned in deliberately, slowly, one could say even gently, and touched his lips to the very corner of Charlie's mouth, stayed there for a second and withdrew.  
  
Harry choked on his own tongue. It was so intimate all of a sudden, they were looking at each other so intensely, nothing around them seemed to matter. This was Draco Malfoy, antisocial, cold and mean, eyes hooded and lips parted, vulnerable. This was Charlie Weasley, known wanderer and playboy, looking enraptured and blushing lightly.  
It was as if the sound in the pub had gone out, muffled as if by magic. A screech died in Harry's throat as both men leaned into each other, Draco's hand on Charlie's cheek now, his thumb brushing over Charlie's lips, stretching them and pulling them to the side, pulling the bottom lip out, basically playing with Charlie's mouth, then letting go.  
  
They kissed. It was passionate and delicate, slow and hard, it was everything Harry ever dreamed of having. With Draco, possibly, hopefully.  
Harry died inside. That hope died with him.  
  
Draco's tongue peeked out and once again swept over Charlie's lips, and he opened his mouth and gave him access, and it was not a battle, it was a dance. Their mouths and their tongues danced together to a song no one could hear but them, with their eyes closed, they nipped and bit and licked. They gasped and hissed and moaned. They grabbbed and pushed and pulled.  
  
Harry barely made it to the toilets before he puked every single drop of alcohol he'd drank that night, and more. His body ached, and not from vomiting.  
He was too late. He couldn't let go of his pride, of his misconceptions, of his prejudices in time. He was still deeply closeted while Draco was fire, passion... love. Free.  
  
He remembered that night when he had gotten pissed, a few days after confessing to Draco his darkest secret: He liked men.  
He knocked on Draco's door, and stepped in uninvited. Draco frowned and asked what was wrong.  
"You," he had answered, "you are what's wrong. With me, at least. You made fun of me for not realising I was into blokes until now, but how could I. You were a little bitch, and awful to me. I would've died before letting myself fancy you. Knowingly."  
  
Draco was immediately defensive, as shown by his carefully blank face and mocking grimace. “Potter, I'm not the only man in the world. Don't blame me for your obliviousness. I didn't put you off men."  
  
Harry had crowded Draco until his back was to the door and Harry's hand were on each side of his head.  
"The thing is, you did. And you kinda are."  
  
"Am what?" Draco looked a little scared, and a little green.  
  
"The only man in the world. For me. For me to fancy. You've always been, I think. You have to be. So if you were not it to me, well no one man can be, right? You're into blokes too, you understand. I can, I don't know, try?"  
He leaned into Draco, closed his eyes, and was promptly pushed away, roughly.  
  
"You're piss drunk. And even if you weren't, I'm not your stepping stone into sexual freedom, or your looking glass. The fact that I'm the only- gay, man you know does not mean I'm willing to be your experiment."  
  
"I didn't-"  
  
"Just leave, Potter, get sober."  
  
"But-"  
  
"Leave, now!"  
  
That's basically how he fucked everything up. He didn’t fully understand what happened, if Draco’s reaction made sense or not. Maybe Draco was already with Charlie and wanted to let him down, who cares?  
He cared. He was stuck pining after Draco while he was busy being happy with Charlie Weasley, practically his family, and neither of them thought to tell him!  
He was trembling with self-righteous anger, and had half a mind to go and ask for an explanation.  
However, and as he figured out later, luckily, both Draco and Charlie were gone when he went back to the dancefloor.  
  
He walked home, defeated, and the cold air helped him clear his mind. He realised neither of them owed him anything, much less an explanation. He was the one obsessed with Draco, Draco had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with him, not in that way. They hadn't talked for weeks, ever since that incident. Draco didn't answer to him, no one did.  
Still, Charlie was a serial playboy, and he couldn't shake the feeling he was going to break Draco's heart. It just couldn't be that he'd changed his ways. The Weasleys would see him every other visit with a new partner, male or female, and he'd be done with them sometimes before the visit was over.  
No problem, he thought, he'd be there to pick up the pieces. 

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Harry, so deluded... Charlie/Draco is life


End file.
